Kate's Five Things #58

Summer Limbo and a Good Tomato Tart

I spent this morning wiping down the same stretch of countertop three times. I couldn’t figure out what else to do with myself. I was like a scratch in a record, finding myself stuck in an annoying loop, unable to pull myself away. There was a list somewhere (there’s always a list), but nothing on it felt urgent enough to cut through the fog.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the space between wanting change and being ready for it. This curious space between dissatisfaction and clarity has become a romantic place to marinate. I’m calling it my summer limbo, and it feels like living in a David Lynch movie. Everything is heightened and illusory. Pouring bad coffee feels both cinematic and doomed. Which, I guess, is what happens when you’re savoring crusts of joy on in times that change minute by minute.

My hunch is that this space is for shifting. Your taste is narrowing (or expanding), your needs are different, but you’re still walking past the same pile of mail on the counter like it might solve itself. A pile of cardboard boxes has taken permanent residence in my office. As I sit down to write this, I greet it like it belongs.

Sometimes I wonder if our homes know before we do. If they reflect the questions we haven’t asked out loud yet. My house looks different to me these days. I’m not in a hurry to leave.

House Call Last Week…

If you’ve felt stuck when it comes to your home lately, like you’re circling the same decision for the 17th time, I’m kicking off a new summer series called Getting Unstuck at Home. Not in a buy-all-new-furniture way. More like: What do I need this room to do for me, and how can I make choices to align with that? We’ll be exploring that together.

Last week’s topic was all about finding and selecting artwork—why it overwhelms us, a common “mistake” we make when choosing art, where I find art I love, and how to choose pieces that actually work in your home. Read part one here and part two here.

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Five Questions (for you and me)

When did you feel most at home this week?
Cuddling my daughter to sleep after she was sick on Sunday night.

Where are you moving forward?
Microtasks. They’re little hits of dopamine.

Where are you stuck?
It has been difficult to practice hope when overwhelmed by the news. Connection helped.

What did you consume that was regenerative?
I spent a lot of time with friends last week. The joy it gave me felt like rebellion.

What question are you asking?
What would feel satisfying to accomplish today?

Your turn. Pen to paper, or whatever works.

Five Things I am Using and Loving

1. This tomato galette was a hit this weekend. So easy to make.

2. The Icons set from Perfumehead. This is my favorite way to discover what works best with my pheromones. Scents smell completely different on each of us, so playing around is necessary.

3. We finally hung this piece in the green room, and I’m thrilled with how it looks.

4. My feet are so beat up from years of dance and all the tennis I’ve been playing this summer. This cream is helping a bit. If it’s good enough for Oprah, I guess it’s good enough for these tired hooves.

5. I've got to give another shout-out to my Ziip. I’ve experienced a lot of volume loss in my face over the past two years, and this device is the one I’ll reach for over the others I’ve tried. I like that the app has different treatments. I mostly focus around my eyes and mouth, but the full face lift is easy to do when you want to zone out while applying the treatment.

Rooms of Our Own

This week’s feature comes from Stephanie, who writes about the evolving nature of what a room contains.

This room seems to contain all of me. It didn't start this way. It was an empty office which I painted green after moving in four years ago. Halfway through painting, the color felt too dark, but I kept going and it was the perfect shade of green once the room filled up.

At first, it just held the books, important documents, photos, and cards I had collected and shoved away in my last apartment. The items from high school and college that barely fit in my 700-square-foot apartment suddenly felt very alone on display in this new room of the new house. I added pictures that I've collected from my travels in my twenties—Myanmar, Mongolia, India—and mixed them in with art from online shops, pieces from students, and items from my parents. I work here when I work from home.

The guest bed is here now as it is better for my aging parents (on the same floor as the main rooms). It also has the crib, changing table, and glider for my second kid, a son whom I birthed through hallucinations and blackout pain. The last picture is taken from the glider in the corner, next to the sound machine and block lamp. I remember the moments of quiet at night, nursing him to sleep, watching him in the glow of the rain sound machine. I imagined him once as a time traveler from the future, seeing me from his baby self, crying at how vast time is postpartum. My daughter now also sleeps in this room, taking the guest bed, wanting to be close to her brother after he got sick one night. Each night we cuddle ‘til she falls asleep, looking at pictures of us on my phone.

It seems very full now, holding everything from childhood photos, letters, and textbooks from college, art I backpacked through countries with, guest beds, cribs, and children. But I also see how it will change once my brother-in-law moves out, or the kids grow up. My office will move to another room, the bed will go downstairs, the crib and changing table will be removed, and the books and art will be replaced with the kids' items/books/clothes. This room means so much and contains so much, and continues to change and move on.

Have a corner of home that feels true? Send a photo and a few words to kate@housecall.com.

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Until next week,
Kate

P.S. The most beautiful homes are never the most composed ones.